text,updated_at,metaphor,created_at,context,theme,reviewed_on,dictionary,comments,provenance,id,work_id
"Is this the cause Death flies all human thought?
Or is it Judgment by the Will struck blind,
(That domineering mistress of the soul,)
Like him so strong, by Delilah the fair?
Or is it Fear turns startled Reason back,
From looking down a precipice so steep?
'Tis dreadful; and the dread is wisely placed,
By Nature, conscious of the make of man.
A dreadful friend it is, a terror kind,
A flaming sword to guard the tree of life.
By that unawed, in life's most smiling hour,
The good man would repine; would suffer joys,
And burn impatient for his promised skies.
The bad, on each punctilious pique of Pride,
Or gloom of Humour, would give Rage the rein,
Bound o'er the barrier, rush into the dark,
And mar the schemes of Providence below.
(ll. 417-433, pp. 127-8 in CUP edition)",2013-06-10 20:08:03 UTC,"""Is this the cause Death flies all human thought? / Or is it Judgment by the Will struck blind, / (That domineering mistress of the soul,) / Like him so strong, by Delilah the fair?""",2013-06-10 20:08:03 UTC,Night the Fifth,"",,Inhabitants,"",Reading,20496,7407
"Is this the cause Death flies all human thought?
Or is it Judgment by the Will struck blind,
(That domineering mistress of the soul,)
Like him so strong, by Delilah the fair?
Or is it Fear turns startled Reason back,
From looking down a precipice so steep?
'Tis dreadful; and the dread is wisely placed,
By Nature, conscious of the make of man.
A dreadful friend it is, a terror kind,
A flaming sword to guard the tree of life.
By that unawed, in life's most smiling hour,
The good man would repine; would suffer joys,
And burn impatient for his promised skies.
The bad, on each punctilious pique of Pride,
Or gloom of Humour, would give Rage the rein,
Bound o'er the barrier, rush into the dark,
And mar the schemes of Providence below.
(ll. 417-433, pp. 127-8 in CUP edition)",2013-06-10 20:08:59 UTC,"""The bad, on each punctilious pique of Pride, / Or gloom of Humour, would give Rage the rein, / Bound o'er the barrier, rush into the dark, / And mar the schemes of Providence below.""",2013-06-10 20:08:59 UTC,Night the Fifth,"",,Animals,"",Reading,20497,7407
"Such, Britons! is the cause, to you unknown,
Or worse, o'erlook'd; o'erlook'd by magistrates,
Thus criminals themselves. I grant the deed
Is madness; but the madness of the heart.
And what is that? Our utmost bound of guilt.
A sensual, unreflecting life is big
With monstrous births, and Suicide, to crown
The black infernal brood. The bold to break
Heaven's law supreme, and desperately rush
Through sacred Nature's murder on their own,
Because they never think of death, they die.
'Tis equally man's duty, glory, gain,
At once to shun and meditate his end.
When by the bed of languishment we sit,
(The seat of wisdom! if our choice, not fate,)
Or o'er our dying friends in anguish hang,
Wipe the cold dew, or stay the sinking head,
Number their moments, and in every clock
Start at the voice of an eternity;
See the dim lamp of life just feebly lift
An agonizing beam, at us to gaze,
Then sink again, and quiver into death,
That most pathetic herald of our own:---
How read we such sad scenes? as sent to man
In perfect vengeance? No; in pity sent,
To melt him down, like wax, and then impress,
Indelible, Death's image on his heart;
Bleeding for others, trembling for himself.
We bleed, we tremble; we forget, we smile:
The mind turns fool before the cheek is dry.
Our quick-returning folly cancels all;
As the tide rushing rases what is writ
In yielding sands, and smooths the letter'd shore.
(ll. 483-515, pp. 129-130 in CUP edition)",2013-06-10 20:10:44 UTC,"""No; in pity sent, / To melt him down, like wax, and then impress, / Indelible, Death's image on his heart; / Bleeding for others, trembling for himself.""",2013-06-10 20:10:44 UTC,Night the Fifth,"",,Impressions,"",Reading,20498,7407
"Such, Britons! is the cause, to you unknown,
Or worse, o'erlook'd; o'erlook'd by magistrates,
Thus criminals themselves. I grant the deed
Is madness; but the madness of the heart.
And what is that? Our utmost bound of guilt.
A sensual, unreflecting life is big
With monstrous births, and Suicide, to crown
The black infernal brood. The bold to break
Heaven's law supreme, and desperately rush
Through sacred Nature's murder on their own,
Because they never think of death, they die.
'Tis equally man's duty, glory, gain,
At once to shun and meditate his end.
When by the bed of languishment we sit,
(The seat of wisdom! if our choice, not fate,)
Or o'er our dying friends in anguish hang,
Wipe the cold dew, or stay the sinking head,
Number their moments, and in every clock
Start at the voice of an eternity;
See the dim lamp of life just feebly lift
An agonizing beam, at us to gaze,
Then sink again, and quiver into death,
That most pathetic herald of our own:---
How read we such sad scenes? as sent to man
In perfect vengeance? No; in pity sent,
To melt him down, like wax, and then impress,
Indelible, Death's image on his heart;
Bleeding for others, trembling for himself.
We bleed, we tremble; we forget, we smile:
The mind turns fool before the cheek is dry.
Our quick-returning folly cancels all;
As the tide rushing rases what is writ
In yielding sands, and smooths the letter'd shore.
(ll. 483-515, pp. 129-130 in CUP edition)",2013-06-10 20:13:06 UTC,"""We bleed, we tremble; we forget, we smile: / The mind turns fool before the cheek is dry. / Our quick-returning folly cancels all; / As the tide rushing rases what is writ / In yielding sands, and smooths the letter'd shore.""",2013-06-10 20:12:48 UTC,Night the Fifth,"",,Writing,"",Reading,20499,7407
"Our funeral tears from different causes rise.
As if from separate cisterns in the soul,
Of various kinds, they flow. From tender hearts,
By soft contagion call'd, some burst at once,
And stream obsequious to the leading eye.
Some ask more time, by curious art distill'd.
Some hearts, in secret hard, unapt to melt,
Struck by the magic of the public eye,
Like Moses' smitten rock, gush out amain.
Some weep to share the fame of the deceased,
So high in merit, and to them so dear.
They dwell on praises which they think they share;
And thus, without a blush, commend themselves.
Some mourn in proof that something they could love;
They weep, not to relieve their grief, but show .
Some weep in perfect justice to the dead,
As conscious all their love is in arrear.
Some mischievously weep, not unapprized
Tears sometimes aid the conquest of an eye.
With what address the soft Ephesians draw
Their sable net-work o'er entangled hearts!
As seen through crystal, how their roses glow,
While liquid pearl runs trickling down their cheek!
Of hers not prouder Egypt's wanton queen,
Carousing gems, herself dissolved in love.
Some weep at Death, abstracted from the dead,
And celebrate, like Charles , their own decease.
By kind construction some are deem'd to weep,
Because a decent veil conceals their joy.
(ll. 522-550, pp. 130-1)",2013-06-10 20:38:04 UTC,"""Our funeral tears from different causes rise. / As if from separate cisterns in the soul, / Of various kinds, they flow.""",2013-06-10 20:38:04 UTC,Night the Fifth,"",,"","",Reading,20500,7407
"Our funeral tears from different causes rise.
As if from separate cisterns in the soul,
Of various kinds, they flow. From tender hearts,
By soft contagion call'd, some burst at once,
And stream obsequious to the leading eye.
Some ask more time, by curious art distill'd.
Some hearts, in secret hard, unapt to melt,
Struck by the magic of the public eye,
Like Moses' smitten rock, gush out amain.
Some weep to share the fame of the deceased,
So high in merit, and to them so dear.
They dwell on praises which they think they share;
And thus, without a blush, commend themselves.
Some mourn in proof that something they could love;
They weep, not to relieve their grief, but show .
Some weep in perfect justice to the dead,
As conscious all their love is in arrear.
Some mischievously weep, not unapprized
Tears sometimes aid the conquest of an eye.
With what address the soft Ephesians draw
Their sable net-work o'er entangled hearts!
As seen through crystal, how their roses glow,
While liquid pearl runs trickling down their cheek!
Of hers not prouder Egypt's wanton queen,
Carousing gems, herself dissolved in love.
Some weep at Death, abstracted from the dead,
And celebrate, like Charles , their own decease.
By kind construction some are deem'd to weep,
Because a decent veil conceals their joy.
(ll. 522-550, pp. 130-1)",2013-06-10 20:39:24 UTC,"""Some hearts, in secret hard, unapt to melt, / Struck by the magic of the public eye, / Like Moses' smitten rock, gush out amain.""",2013-06-10 20:39:24 UTC,Night the Fifth,"",,"",Interesting biblical allusion...,Reading,20501,7407
"Some weep in earnest, and yet weep in vain;
As deep in indiscretion as in woe.
Passion, blind Passion, impotently pours
Tears that deserve more tears, while Reason sleeps,
Or gazes, like an idiot, unconcern'd,
Nor comprehends the meaning of the storm;
Knows not it speaks to her, and her alone.
Irrationals all sorrow are beneath,
That noble gift, that privilege of man!
From Sorrow's pang, the birth of endless joy.
But these are barren of that birth Divine:
They weep impetuous as the summer storm,
And full as short! The cruel grief soon tamed,
They make a pastime of the stingless tale;
Far as the deep-resounding knell, they spread
The dreadful news, and hardly feel it more:
No grain of wisdom pays them for their woe.
(ll. 551-567, p. 131 in CUP edition)",2013-06-10 20:40:44 UTC,"""Passion, blind Passion, impotently pours / Tears that deserve more tears, while Reason sleeps, / Or gazes, like an idiot, unconcern'd, / Nor comprehends the meaning of the storm.""",2013-06-10 20:40:44 UTC,Night the Fifth,"",,Inhabitants,"",Reading,20502,7407
"Tell me, some god! my guardian angel, tell,
What thus infatuates? what enchantment plants
The phantom of an age 'twixt us and Death
Already at the door? He knocks; we hear him,
And yet we will not hear. What mail defends
Our untouch'd hearts? What miracle turns off
The pointed thought, which from a thousand quivers
Is daily darted, and is daily shunn'd?
We stand, as in a battle, throngs on throngs
Around us falling; wounded oft ourselves;
Though bleeding with our wounds, immortal still!
We see Time's furrows on another's brow,
And Death, intrench'd, preparing his assault:
How few themselves in that just mirror see!
Or, seeing, draw their inference as strong!
There Death is certain; doubtful here: he must,
And soon--we may, within an age--expire.
Though grey our heads, our thoughts and aims are green;
Like damaged clocks, whose hand and bell dissent;
Folly sings six, while Nature points at twelve.
(ll. 616-635, pp. 132-3 in CUP edition)",2014-08-18 19:49:43 UTC,"""Though grey our heads, our thoughts and aims are green; / Like damaged clocks, whose hand and bell dissent; / Folly sings six, while Nature points at twelve.""",2013-06-10 20:42:13 UTC,Night the Fifth,"",,"",FIXED: This duplicates (under correct WORK) a previous entry. (was work entry 4726),"Reading; found again searching HDIS (Drama). Lines cited by Samuel Jackson Pratt in the Front Matter of Fire and Frost.
",20503,7407
"Dost ask, Lorenzo, why so warmly press'd,
By repetition hammer'd on thine ear,
The thought of Death? That thought is the machine,
The grand machine that heaves us from the dust,
And rears us into men! That thought plied home
Will soon reduce the ghastly precipice
O'erhanging hell, will soften the descent,
And gently slope our passage to the grave.
How warmly to be wish'd! What heart of flesh
Would trifle with tremendous, dare extremes,
Yawn o'er the fate of infinite? What hand,
Beyond the blackest brand of censure bold,
(To speak a language too well known to thee,)
Would at a moment give its all to chance,
And stamp the die for an eternity?
(ll. 682-692, pp. 134-5 in CUP edition)",2013-06-10 20:42:52 UTC,"""That thought is the machine, / The grand machine that heaves us from the dust, / And rears us into men!""",2013-06-10 20:42:52 UTC,Night the Fifth,"",,"","",Reading,20504,7407
"But you are learn'd; in volumes deep you sit,
In wisdom shallow. Pompous ignorance!
Would you be still more learned than the learn'd?
Learn well to know how much need not be known,
And what that knowledge which impairs your sense.
Our needful knowledge, like our needful food,
Unhedged, lies open in life's common field,
And bids all welcome to the vital feast.
You scorn what lies before you in the page
Of Nature and Experience,--moral truth,
Of indispensable, eternal fruit;
Fruit on which mortals, feeding, turn to gods,--
And dive in science for distinguish'd names,
Dishonest fomentation of your pride,
Sinking in virtue as you rise in fame.
Your learning, like the lunar beam, affords
Light, but not heat; it leaves you undevout,
Frozen at heart, while speculation shines.
Awake, ye curious indagators, fond
Of knowing all, but what avails you known.
If you would learn Death's character, attend.
All casts of conduct, all degrees of health,
All dies of fortune, and all dates of age,
Together shook in his impartial urn,
Come forth at random; or, if choice is made,
The choice is quite sarcastic, and insults
All bold conjecture and fond hopes of man.
What countless multitudes not only leave
But deeply disappoint us by their deaths!
Though great our sorrow, greater our surprise.
(ll. 735-764, pp. 135-6 in CUP edition)",2013-06-10 20:44:31 UTC,"""Our needful knowledge, like our needful food, / Unhedged, lies open in life's common field, / And bids all welcome to the vital feast.""",2013-06-10 20:44:31 UTC,Night the Fifth,"",,"","",Reading,20505,7407